


Tell Me I'm Alive

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, fear toxin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason wanted proof. This was the only proof Bruce could give him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me I'm Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some brujay word vomit. Mostly based off of Mumford&Sons’ ‘Believe.’ Basically all of Jason’s fears have to do with dying, or Bruce dying, being separated from Bruce, or never being able to tell Bruce how he feels. There’s a shit-ton of implied established and mutual pining here. It’s words, I dunno. They probably bang later. I decided to write this crapheap today, but we’ll just pretend it was a belated birthday gift for cornflakepizza okay. So.

Oracle had said it was a new strain. 

Not only did it reveal your deepest fears, it invoked some sort of mental retrograde. You lost your years, fixed in some past trauma. 

And Jason had gotten a face-full of it. 

How Scarecrow had gotten a hold of him, Bruce didn’t know. How Jason got away, he didn’t care.

All he knew was that Jason had gone back to the manor. All he cared about was that Jason was calling for him.

“It’s all he’s saying,” Barbara said. “He just keeps repeating your name. I’ve locked down the manor, but I can’t guarantee that’ll keep him there.” She paused, then. And when she spoke again, she sounded nervous. “You better hurry, Bruce. He sounds desperate.”

So Bruce did. He raced across the city and through the country, with one thought on his mind.

_Do not fail him again._

“He’s barricaded in your room.” Barbara added, as he flew through the gates of his own home. He didn’t need the hint, though. He could already see the light. The only light shining through the whole house. “He’s also broken his communicator.” 

“Understood.” Bruce murmured, cutting through the lawn on his bike. He was concerned that if he came through the front door, Jason would bolt before he reached him. And nothing is more surprising than someone busting through a window. It was a proven tactic, after all. “Cut mine, too.”

“Wha…are you sure?” Barbara stuttered. Bruce grunted an affirmative, and Oracle sighed. “Whatever you say, Boss. Cutting your comm. in three…two…”

There was a light buzz, and Bruce knew he was alone.

He slowed his bike to a halt, walking until he was under the balcony outside his window. He paused as he grabbed his grapple, listening to the faint noises coming from inside. A mixture of sobbing and shouting. The crunching of pieces under foot. The strangled shriek of his name.

_“Ah…Bruce!”_

He shot his line, then. Didn’t even wait for it to go taut before climbing after it.  When he landed, he could see in through his balcony doors, could see a shape pacing the room, the shards of something broken scattered across the floor.

Slowly he approached, slowly he opened the doors, trying to time it for when Jason was turned away, when Jason wasn’t looking. Maybe then he wouldn’t try to run, wouldn’t try to escape, at least not before Bruce could grab him. 

It almost worked. 

He doesn’t know what Jason heard, maybe it was a breath, or the shift of his armor. He doesn’t know what senses were heightened with the fear toxic, or what Jason was focusing on. But Bruce had barely taken a step into the room before Jason spun around, face pale and eyes wide. 

He gasped, but he didn’t run. No, to Bruce’s surprise he just flopped back against the nearest wall, slid down it until he could rest his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. 

“Bruce…”

Bruce walked calmly across the room. The thing, or rather _things_ , that had been broken were picture frames. Family photos of Bruce and the other children. Of Dick and Cassandra, of Tim and Damian, even some of Jason and Barbara. Cherished items, favored memories.

“B-Bruce, I’m sorry…” 

But Bruce walked right by them, walked right over them to reach Jason. To push his cowl back and crouch in front of the broken man. 

“The-the Joker. He, he got me.” Jason peeked above his fingertips, above the chipped and bloody nails. His eyes were wide and sad, but otherwise empty. Guilty. “I’m dead.” 

“No,” Bruce shook his head. Of course. Of course that would be the event the fear gas would latch onto. “You’re not.” 

“No, I am! He got me!” Jason suddenly lurched forward, grabbed hold of Bruce’s uniform. Tugged and scrambled until his hands found purchase, then pulled. Yanked Bruce forward so hard, he was forced to collapse to his knees, right between Jason’s own. Dragged him until they were nose to nose, until Bruce had to stabilize himself with two hands on the wall, framing Jason’s head. The younger man’s eyes were fierce and angry as they tilted up to stare into Bruce’s own. “The Joker fucking won!” 

“Jason…”

Just as quickly, Jason’s eyes suddenly lost their spark. Hazed over and slowly dropped to the floor. His feet slid slightly, knees knocking against Bruce’s sides.

“Jason, you’re not…”

“The Joker won. But there must be a god somewhere, B.” Jason whispered, fluttering gaze a thousand yards away. “’Cause they’re letting me say goodbye to you.” 

“Jason, you’re not dead.” Bruce breathed sternly. 

“Of course I am.” Jason snorted, a lopsided grin melting onto his lips. “But it’s…it’s okay. As long as that fucker didn’t get to you, I guess. So long as you’re sa-” 

Bruce instantly pushed off the wall, shifted all his weight from his hands to his knees as he took Jason’s face in his grasp, turned his head back and leaned it to look up at him. 

“Jason, _you are not dead_.” 

The Red Hood’s hands twitched against his shirt. His eyes went wide once again, exposing the flecks of green mixed with the blue. His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as those eyes scanned Bruce’s features, like he was just now noticing Bruce was there at all. 

“You are not dead.” Bruce repeated gently. “You are alive, Jason. Just under the influence of a drug. But it’s okay. _You’re_ okay. You’re safe n-” 

“I don’t want to be dead.” Jason whimpered, grip tightening in Bruce’s uniform. “Bruce, I don’t want to be away from you.” 

“You won’t be.” Bruce promised. “Because I’m right here.” 

“But you’re not!” Jason suddenly jerked, muscles tightening. And here it was, here was the attempt at an escape. “Because…because…oh my god, because _you’re_ dead!” 

Jason’s eyes darted across Bruce’s body, even as his hands fought between pulling him closer and pushing him away. He seemed unaware of Bruce’s fingers on his face, seemed completely unaware of where he even was. 

“You’re dead, and Grayson is Batman.” Jason murmured, eyes jumping everywhere. Everywhere but Bruce’s face. “Gotham’s in shambles. Everything’s a wreck.” 

“Jason. _Jason_. I’m not dead either.” Bruce tried to raise his voice over Jason’s mumblings. “ _No one_ is dead.” 

“Prove it!” Jason shrieked. He jerked backwards, smacking his head off the wooden wall. Bruce kept his hands on his face, though, kept him balanced and in place. “Prove that you’re not dead! Prove that _I’m_ not dead! Do something only a living person could do. Say something only a living person could say!” 

And Bruce hesitated. Because what was that? Of all his studies of the afterlife, of all the interviews with Barry and Clark, and even with Damian and Dick, it was never the same. There were loved ones there, and there were even confessions made. But otherwise it was up to the person, up to the one who Death had taken. 

But wait.

There was one thing. Damian had mentioned it. He’d said that the first people he ran into in the afterlife were his grandparents. Were Thomas and Martha. He said they’d met in a park and had a picnic. And it was real, everything felt _real_. 

But then Martha had tried to hold his hand. Then Thomas had tried to ruffle his hair. And he’d said that’s when he knew. Because they couldn’t _touch_ him. They went through him. And even when they succeeded, it felt like nothing. Felt…cold. 

And the others’ tales were similar. Barry’s mother. Both of Clark’s fathers. Dick’s parents. 

The dead couldn’t touch each other. 

“P-prove it.” Jason begged softly through harsh breaths. “Please.”

But for some reason, Jason wasn’t reacting to the hands on his face. Couldn’t feel them, perhaps. Or couldn’t register them. Maybe it was because Bruce was wearing gloves. Maybe because it wasn’t skin on skin. Maybe it had something to do with the fear toxin. Or maybe not. 

It didn’t matter. Bruce wasn’t going to use his hands anyway. 

Despite how little the distance was, Bruce took his time closing it. He didn’t hit the target directly, though, afraid that it wouldn’t be enough. This wasn’t some sort of Sleepy Beauty scenario. Jason was no princess, and he was no Prince Charming. One kiss wasn’t going to save the world. 

He tilted his head, pressed his lips tenderly to Jason’s jaw line. 

“You are safe.” 

He released, just slightly. Dragged his lips along the cool skin. Pushed another peck to the corner of Jason’s mouth. He felt the younger’s mouth open in a gasp, a shiver echo through his cheek, his hands leaning desperately into his chest. Bruce could feel those tattered nails now, squeezing through the fabric and Kevlar. 

“You are with me.” 

He pulled back completely, then. Just an inch or two, just enough to look at Jason’s face. His eyes were a little clearer now. Still terrified, still would be for a few hours yet, but he might not be stuck in those memories anymore. And regardless of how minor, it was progress, and Bruce would take it. 

Bruce would pull him out of that dark. 

He smiled – soft and small. He didn’t know if Jason’s mind would let him see it, let him know it was just for him, but that didn’t matter. He dove back in, and when their lips were centimeters away, he whispered:

“And we are both _alive_.” 

Relief washed through when it was Jason who closed that last bit of distance. When it was Jason who angled his head just enough to complete their circuit. Because that meant his mind was clearing. That meant he was beating the fear, beating the drug, pulling out of that darkness. He continued to tug at Bruce’s uniform, his knees ramming into Bruce’s sides to hold him in place, even followed the movement when Bruce shifted back just slightly. 

The kiss was desperate and warm, passionate and adoring, with Jason pushing and pushing and _pushing_. Leaning forward with every movement, opening his mouth wider like he wanted to devour his partner. But Bruce didn’t mind. If it brought Jason comfort, if it got Jason out of that darkness, then so be it. 

Besides, it’s not like he wasn’t enjoying it, too. 

It was when he felt Jason’s legs twist, start to wrap around his waist that he broke away. Not far, though. Kept his hands on Jason’s face, pressed his forehead against Jason’s sweaty bangs. 

“Bruce…?” He breathed, eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing, as he tried to force his mind through the fog of the fear toxin. “Bruce, I just see blood when I open my eyes.” 

“Then don’t open your eyes.” 

Jason gulped, letting out a puff of air as he exhaled and nodded. “Bruce, I don’t want to die.” 

“You’re not dying.” Bruce nodded. “It’s fear gas, Jason. We’ll have an antidote synthesized in no time.” 

“No.” Jason shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and Bruce felt his ankles lock around the small of his back. “I don’t want to die without _telling_ you.” 

Bruce smirked. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t.” Jason’s breathing was still ragged, and the way his eyes were jumping underneath his eyelids, Bruce could tell the fears were seeping into that space too. That Jason was slipping, ever so slightly, back into that darkness. “You _don’t_.” 

“I _do_ , Jason.” 

“ _Bruce_.” His eyes flashed open, recoiled just a little bit almost instantly. Bruce wondered what he saw, wondered how much blood was swimming through his vision. “Bruce, _I love you_.” 

Bruce smiled. Wider, this time. More obvious, as he ran a thumb across Jason’s clammy skin. “Jason, _I know_.” 

Jason’s mouth dropped open in surprise. After a second though, he sighed, closed his mouth and his eyes once more. Leaned slightly into Bruce’s touch. “Of course you do.” 

“I suppose _world’s greatest detective_ isn’t just a stupid moniker after all.” Bruce whispered, stroking at Jason’s skin again. Once he started, it seemed he couldn’t stop. That, and it seemed to be keeping Jason calm, keeping the fears slightly at bay. 

“Oh look. He made a joke.” Jason drawled lightly. “…Are you going to knock me out? At least until you get the antidote?” 

“Not unless you want me to.” 

“…Are you going to kiss me again?” 

“Not unless you want me to.” Bruce repeated, then smirked. “At least. Not right now.” 

“Yeah, maybe later. _Definitely_ later.” Jason tried to laugh, but it came out splintered and weak. Whatever he saw behind his eyelids must have been unexpected, for his legs suddenly spasmed, squeezing Bruce’s hips tighter. 

“You’re okay. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.” Bruce assured. He suddenly moved backwards, gently sliding his hands from Jason’s face to his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you off the floor.” 

“If it’s all the same to you,” Jason gasped, immediately curling forward. He pressed his face to the bat emblem, hands loosening from the material in exhaustion. The darkness was pushing back, and Jason was losing the battle. “I think I’d like to stay right here. On the floor. With…with you.” 

Bruce paused, listening as Jason’s breathing became heavy once more, as it mixed with pained whimpers. Without another thought, he buried in Jason’s hair, enveloping him in his arms.

Just a few hours. A few more hours of pain for this man, and then it would be okay. Then they could talk. Then they could _act_. In a few hours, he would kiss him again. Kiss him how he wanted to, _where_ he wanted to, and let it devolve from there. 

“Stay with me, Jason.” Bruce pleaded. “Focus on me. Focus on my voice.” 

“That’s real. _You’re_ real. Everything else is not.” Jason chanted. “Nothing is real but _you_.” 

A pause. Jason’s shoulders began to shake. 

“Please don’t leave me, B.” He sobbed. “Please don’t let them take me from you again.” 

Bruce sighed.

Just a few more hours. 

But for now.

“I won’t.” He whispered, clutching Jason as tightly and as closely as he could, cocooning him in warmth and security and affection. “I promise.”


End file.
